Aftermath of Amnesia
by Cloudincia Portagate
Summary: Mu la Flaga wasn't the only one to survive impossible odds. Natarle Badgiriel finds herself unaware of a non-military past, and sets out to rediscover her childhood.


Aftermath of Amnesia

Cloudincia Portagate

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Author's Notes: 'Taru' comes from the Japanese pronunciation of Natarle as 'Nataru'

: DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam SEED or Gundam SEED Destiny

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Natarle Badgiriel stared out at the Atlantic Ocean and filled her lungs in time to the waves. It was getting easier to breathe deeply now, they told her she'd never walk again, but Natarle still held out some hope that she might surprise them. Now, though, she had to leave. She knew that much. It was time to pick up the pieces, such as they were, and put them all back together. The problem was that half the pieces were missing; she had her home address, the names of her now deceased parents, her house keys, and another name which she couldn't fit anywhere into the puzzle.

She knew only that she had to know, and that meant leaving. Every day, all day, she forced her memory back, but it was like stretching your fingers; they only went so far. To prove a point early in her military training the instructor had shot a blank at her. While the non-fatal bullet had missed it had left lasting impressions: 1. you shouldn't rely on ignorance to save you, and 2. being shot hurt. The pain was as far back as her memory went; the incident with Azrael had been as painful, and for some reason her mind had cut off everything else.

So she had made her decision; she would go to her parents' house, and find out her childhood. From there she would trace herself to the present day, and maybe, hopefully, somewhere along the way she would remember. _Something_ had lead her to protect Flay, support Murrue, to loathe Azrael, and to mother her drugged pilots. She had a feeling that something had been lost, and she wanted it back. Without living parents to ask questions of the next step of her journey had already been planned; find the owner of the name. Natarle had been through the phone directory online and made a list. They would take her home tomorrow.

The men who wheeled her down the ramp of the military van also carried her up the steps to the front porch. She told them to leave; she wouldn't need any help until the morning. They acquiesced only after the youngest had given her the name and number of a local pizza place. Silently she thanked him, but they didn't need to know that her foresight had glossed over such details as food. She placed the key in the lock and twisted; it opened. She had paid for electricity, but was still pleasantly surprised when it actually turned on. In the artificial light she looked around her home; its layout made sense, making it her home, not a home. Here was the kitchen, here the dining room, both with countertops too high to reach from her chair. This was her father's office, they had told her all his sensitive paperwork had been removed and she was free to shred the rest of it, but there didn't seem to be much gone. And this was her bedroom. She wheeled inside, knowing it was hers, but not remembering how it looked.

She saw the single bed, and the low desk, saw the order with which everything on the desk was arranged and took in the alphabetizing of the bookshelves, by author's surname. The floor was completely clear. On the desk was an envelope which, upon inspection, had arrived for her here after she had started at the academy. There was something heavy and solid in it, and Natarle opened it with curiosity.

_Dear Taru_

_I've settled down now, but I suppose you've gone ahead and joined the EA. Well, I've got a house and a job, and I'd like for you to come and see me whenever you get the chance. That probably won't be for a while, I know, but I'll be waiting. I don't know when you'll get this, but I had to send a letter because that was the only way to send you my key. It just didn't seem right not giving my girlfriend a key. This way if you come while I'm at work you can let yourself in. I miss you, and I'm still cooking for two people even though there's only one of me. I'll either get fat or grow penicillin in my fridge! Actually I miss having you tell me what you'd like for dinner; it's so much easier than having to think for myself. You'd love the view here; I have a small garden, mercifully it's flat, which runs all the way to the beach, which drops rather sharply at first, and then levels off to join the sea. The address is on the key, so make sure not to loose it. _

_Yours with constant affection, _

The name was the one Natarle has been thinking about and cannot place. Her girlfriend? OK she'd been attracted to Murrue, but…girlfriend? Who had cooked her meals and knew her landscape preferences. That, in a strange way, explained her memory of the name; she could remember remembering the woman, but not actually meeting her. Wow, that made no sense. She scrutinized the address on the key; it was in Orb, which explained why she wouldn't have been able to go and see this girlfriend for a while. Orb…where Murrue and Kira and Cagalli and Lacus and… a myriad of names and faces swum through her mind, but one by one the mystery name prevailed over them. Who was this woman?

Ten minutes later Natarle had a plane ticket thanks to her phone, a military medal, and a large inheritance from her parent's retirement funds. She had tried to call Murrue's mobile but it was either switched off or disconnected, so she ordered a small cheese pizza instead. While she waited she looked around the perimeter of her old home and discovered that she could, without too much difficulty, let herself out onto the grass at the back.

She called a taxi to come after she had finished her solitary pizza and drunk a glass of water from a tap she could now barely reach. She shoved the letter and key into her bag, which was still packed, locked the front door, and troddled out the back to take the long route round to the front, where the taxi waited. The driver helped her in without too much hassle, folded her wheelchair and placed it in the boot with her bag. He drove her patiently through rush hour to the airport, and helped her out again. She paid, and he departed. So far she hadn't given herself time to really think about her new condition, but now was stunned to find out how quickly her finds were being depleted. Life would be different now, and she was only just realising it. She couldn't jump on a bus, or walk easily down the street; she could barely raise herself to the tap before the nerves in her back reminded her of the five bullets through the chest. Still wanting to deny thinking about these things she hurried to security.

She arrived in Orb that afternoon after a pleasant flight spent sleeping and staring out of the window, bored out of her mind. She got herself out of the airport with some hassle; ex-Earth Alliance soldiers don't normally go holidaying in Orb during wartime, and wheeled her way down to where she remembered the mechanics occupied themselves on warships. The woman on the nearest thing to a reception was less than helpful. She had started only recently, she admitted, but they had no one of the name Murrue Ramius, they did not service the _Archangel_, and Mr. Yamato had resigned from the army following the Battle of Jachin Doe, along with his cohorts. Natarle didn't dare ask about Princess Attha.

So Natarle, slightly annoyed not to have found Murrue even though, she told herself, she came to Orb to go to a mystery address where awaited a mystery girlfriend, wheeled herself outside. A group of teens were talking and a woman young enough to be their sister was watching over them with half an eye. Feeling less than hopeful she rolled over. The brunette in charge looked up as she approached, from her conversation with a visibly, though not much, older man, and spoke "Can I help you, miss?" At once three of the teens stopped talking. They clearly weren't well versed at keeping secrets.

"You don't know a Murrue Ramius, do you?" Natarle asked her voice weary. The blue haired boy stopped talking to the blonde he was addressing and looked at her, quizzically.

"Murrue Ramius, of the _Archangel_?"

"You know her?" Natarle was astonished that, after this wearisome day, someone should actually be able to help her.

"Maybe." He smiled, "it depends who's asking."

"Natarle Badgiriel, formerly of the _Archangel_"

"Not also formerly of the Earth Alliance ship _Dominion_?"

The boy was getting on her nerves, who was he? Why did he look familiar? "Maybe," she said, "it depends who's asking."

"Athrun Zala, of…Justice."

"Ensign Yamato's friend?" Natarle didn't mean to say it aloud, but there it was; all she knew about him.

"Yeah, he mentioned you, something about Blue Cosmos"

"Where is Mr. Yamato? Or Murrue for that matter," Natarle didn't feel much like going in to the matter with Former ZAFT Chaiman Zala's son.

"I don't know. In space somewhere, or on the Archangel, or maybe somewhere on Onogoro, I really haven't a clue"

"Where's Sunset Avenue?" Natarle focused on the questions to block out the useless answers.

"I don't know; Shinn might," he called to a boy a little shorter and younger looking than himself, "Asuka! Where's Sunset Avenue?"

The dark haired boy gestured off down a hill to the beach Natarle had seen signposted, "five, maybe ten minutes," he glowered at the elder boy, and looked around furtively, as if worried about being seen.

"Thank you" she said, curtly, and began, wearily, to maneuver herself towards the road.

Their 'mother' spoke then, "we're going that way; may we come with you?" Natarle was rather stunned, not having expected conviviality from the woman in charge of a boy who thought her Blue Cosmos. She gabbled incoherently for a few seconds while her exhausted mind reorganized itself, and the woman seized the handles of her wheelchair.

This was not to be tolerated. Natarle jammed her breaks on, "I can push myself, thank you." Her voice was cold, and, between the lines the worlds, 'I don't want sympathy' could be distinctly heard. The woman acquiesced, releasing the back of the chair, and Natarle unlocked herself. About halfway to the beach she realized that the woman was holding her chair again, though not pushing, more resting on it. Maybe she was the one who was tired.

"I don't know your name" Natarle realized, aloud.

"It's Talia, Talia Gladys," she said, her voice was sweet, but in the dangerous way of a woman too tired to put effort into her voice, reserving it for her fists instead.

"You're never these children's mother," Natarle stated. It was the kind of statement that required an answer though, and Ms. Gladys gave it.

"No, but I'm in charge of them. In place of their parents," she explained

"A group from ZAFT chooses an odd time to visit Orb," Natarle probed

"Onogoro island isn't about to blow up" Zala said, and Shinn snorted.

"Thinking of Heliopolis?" she asked him.

"Thinking of Junius 7," he replied, dourly. Why did she always forget that incident? She had no response to him, thinking of Mr. Yamato's indignancy at la Flaga's plan in the Debris Belt, and of the memorial service Miss Clyne hadn't been able to give.

Sunset Avenue could just as easily have been Sunrise Avenue; it stretched out in an east-west direction, and would catch the light at both ends of the day for most of the year. Natarle checked her key; they were looking for number 74. She squinted at the brass numbers on the other side of the street, but the shadows hid them, or else the glare obscured the lines. "What number?" the boy named Shinn asked. Natarle told him, and he pointed, looking, if anything sadder, and more furtive, than ever. Talia wheeled her to the door. It alone, of all the houses on the street, had a switchback ramp leading to the raised door, instead of stairs. Perhaps this girlfriend was also handicapped. Where would she have met someone like that? Natarle immediately chastised herself; it wasn't as if there was no contact between the wheelchair bound and the non. Look at her now, with Talia.

Getting up the ramp with Talia's help, she pushed the key gently into the lock, fearful that it might not work. What if the letter was outdated? What if her girlfriend had a new one, or had moved? What if she'd changed the locks? But no, the lock gave a slight grind, and a click, the door swung open. Talia patted her shoulder, and departed with her brood, off to wherever they needed to go.

Natarle heaved a sigh of relief, peering inside the house to make out anything in the fading light. There was a loud car engine behind them and a woman yelled. "Get the hell away from my house right now!" Natarle turned her head sharply, and then turned back to the front, her chest stabbing pain through her body. She made a five-point-wiggle and looked again at the stranger. The face was familiar; she could never have described it before now, but, seeing it, she knew its every intimate detail. She knew the wide eyes, which, at a moment's notice, could harden or soften, which had comforted her, chastised her, pleaded with her. She couldn't remember the specifics, but she knew her history with those eyes. And those full lips, seeming redder than they should beneath pale skin, and rose-less cheeks. They had spoken to her, words of wisdom, words of laughter, words of joy and sorrow. They had kissed her. She could remember that much.

"Taru?" the voice was soft now, as it had been before. Incredulous, happy, gentle, all in a single word. She got out of the car, she had been the passenger, and the car drove away. She leaned heavily on two crutches, which seemed out of place on her. She followed Natarle's eyes and explained, as if there had never been any separation, "I got fed up with having them help me into my wheelchair all the time, so I keep it at work." Natarle backed into the railing to let her into her own home before following and closing the door on the now lit hallway. Her voice floated through from the kitchen, "do you still drink red; I haven't chilled a white." She emerged with two plastic wine glasses and motioned Natarle into another room, which turned out to be a sitting room. If they had been a conventional couple in their late 20s, that is; married, with children, it would have been a family room, but they weren't, so it wasn't.

Another trip brought out a wine bottle and cork screw, which she opened upon sitting herself precariously down on the rim of one of the chairs. "A blasted nuisance, these things are," she muttered, Natarle didn't quite know what she meant; the cork came out easily enough. "You sit deep in them and you can't get up again." She poured wine for the two of them, and then, leaning back at what appeared quite an uncomfortable angle, she said, "so, where've you been?"


End file.
